


The Monster in the Mirror

by jeremyyyberryyy



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Crying, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lee Minho | Lee Know-centric, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, OT8, Paranoia, Polyamory Negotiations, References to Depression, Sad, Sad Lee Minho | Lee Know, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29995314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeremyyyberryyy/pseuds/jeremyyyberryyy
Summary: The music is loud.The music is loud and Minho is overwhelmed with his thoughts and the feelings swirling and mixing into something monstrous and horrible inside of his chest.The music is loud and Minho uses the only method he knows to make it all stop.
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know/Everyone, Stray Kids Ensemble/Everyone, Stray Kids Ensemble/Stray Kids Ensemble
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	The Monster in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> tw/cw: vey descriptive self-harm (no seriously! pls don’t read if this could in any way trigger you or make you uncomfortable), blood, depression, paranoia, references to anxiety, crying, references to suicidal thoughts, breakdowns  
> (this can be an incredibly triggering topic and what i wrote especially is very vivid and descriptive self-harm. i also tried my best to explain the process of minho’s thoughts and what’s going on in his head, so it’s honestly a little terrifying. pls read at your own risk and do remember that i am not implying minho self-harms or has done anything like that in the past!)

The music was loud. God, it was fucking loud. This merciless loop of never-ending sounds continuing to overlap and twist together. 

It was torturous. Every second the clock ticked by, the louder and more hideous the music became.

The music hurts to listen to. It’s so loud. This treacherous monster of sounds.

This music is loud. It’s so incredibly loud that it’s all Minho can hear in the large expanse of his shared bedroom.

How can nobody else hear it? It’s torturous. It’s torturous listening to this god-awful melody on repeat. All alone. All alone at night.

The music is loud. He stumbles his way out of the room on shaky limbs, his mind barely conscious enough to remember the way to the bathroom.

He feels the melody take over. The music engulfing his entire being as he stands there looking back at the reflection in the mirror of a person he doesn’t even know. A face that isn’t his own. An image he barely recognizes.

The music is loud as he continues to stare. As he watches the breathtaking tears fall down his cheeks. As he watches but can’t feel as the tears cascade down his face.

The music is loud. He can see a wretched smile crave its way onto his face. He feels the music in his bones now. An all-consuming mix of notes and vibration, coursing through his body. 

It’s everywhere. The music is everywhere. And there’s no escape. But maybe Minho doesn’t even want an escape. Maybe he isn’t looking for one.

The music still thumps and pounds in his body, the sounds shaking the whole room and distorting the reality he sees around him. 

His face contorts in the mirror into something hideous. This face. This body. This being isn’t even human anymore. 

When did he get to the point of being this hollow shell of a person? Why is he at the point where he’s scared to be alone with his own self? Why is the music so loud? Why won’t it stop? Why won’t it stop? Why won’t it stop?

The music is loud however he can still hear the wood creak and moan as he opens the drawer under the sink.

The music is loud but the scratches of his hands frantically rifling through the drawer are louder.

The music is loud and it only increases to a shrill yelling in his ear as he finds the object that he desires.

The music is loud. God, it’s very loud. It’s so loud it doesn’t even feel like music anymore. This isn’t music. It’s just the notes playing in his own head. The steady beat of the pulsing of his own heart in his chest as the tears fall and his breaths hitch.

The music is loud, filling him with this need. This downright terrifying desire. 

He can’t stop. It’s too loud. The music is too loud.

All he can feel is the pure desperation running through his blood.

He looks up in the mirror once more, trying to catch a glimpse of himself. Not Lee Know. Not even Minho. Just him. Just himself.

He watches in blatant horror as the tears have only started coming out faster and faster, his face twisting and cracking until he is the very same monster he fears.

Minho stumbles back and the loud collision as his body hits the glass shower behind him is only a hypnotizing addition to the music swirling around the room.

The music is loud. He breathes it in and it flows through his body. This sickly sweet, this petrifying miserable tune. 

He watches in utter fascination as his mouth opens wide in a silent scream, his hands scratching red down the sides of his face.

He pauses for a second, catching his breath. The emotion welling in his chest and almost becoming too much to handle; unbearable as the music continues to play.

Then he smiles. A wide pain-filled smile filled with the utmost happiness and joy. 

He laughs out loud as the tears drip down his face. As it gets harder and harder to breath. As the smile on his face only begins to terrify him more and more.

The music is loud. Minho pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie, not even having showered and changed for the night before going to bed.

He yanks up the cloth to reveal the appallingly beautiful artwork running across his left arm. He feels happiness bubble up as he stares down at the red lines etched into his skin.

The music is loud. He observes with a frown how most of the lines are white, already having scarred up into small marks that he could easily blame on his cats. They needed to be freshened up. They needed to look as painful as they felt. He needed to be beautiful again. He needed to be as mindless and breathtakingly beautiful as the music that consumed him.

The music is loud as he continues to openly stare at the red raised skin of his latest masterpieces. He sees the drops of water land on his wrist and almost laughs at how pathetic he is. Laughs at how his eyes could betray him. How they couldn’t appreciate his beauty.

The music is loud and it continues to be loud, pounding at the doors frantically and trembling harshly, almost shattering the mirror in its wake.

Minho looks at the blade in the palm of his hands, fondly remembering the first time he had smashed that vile pencil sharpener in a blind panic to get to the shiny metal a few months back. 

The music is loud as he deeply breaths in, placing the blade on top of the cuts on his wrist.

It hurts. God, it hurts.

And every time, it hurts more and more. 

The music is loud. The sound is deafening as Minho presses the blade into his skin at the side of his wrist. He pushes just until he feels the pain.

He never goes too far. He’s far too scared and pathetic of a creature to do something as decisive and final as that.

Minho doesn’t want to die. Or at least not all the time. This is why he is always careful, only pushing the blade down until he feels the skin break. Only pressing the blade down as far as he dares, knowing if he goes too far the outcome will be irreversible.

They always hurt more on his wrist. Maybe that’s because his veins are there.

The wrist hurts more. Maybe that’s why he always opts to do them there. That combined with the fact that no one can see your wrists if you’re wearing long sleeves or Hyunjin’s bracelets.

Even if he didn’t cover them up, he doubts anyone would notice. They’re just on his wrist after all. Who would even bother to look there?

Maybe he kind of wants them to. Wants his boyfriends to notice. Wants them to feel bad for him. To make everything better. Maybe he really is only doing this for attention like his father said to him all those years ago. Maybe his friend was right to leave him because this. He had promised to stop after all.

Minho did stop. For a time, he stopped. But the music didn’t. The music never stopped. And sometimes people reach a breaking point.

So maybe he did want someone to look him in the eye and tell him that he isn’t as okay as he keeps insisting he is. Maybe he wants someone to yell at him that he isn’t fine and that maybe he never was.

But that would make them right.

That would mean Minho was only doing this for attention. That would mean Minho was only doing this so others would feel bad for him.

But he wasn’t like that, right? He was bad. But not that bad. Besides, why would a person who’s seeking attention try so hard to keep his scars hidden?

And then again, why would a person who’s not making stuff up for attention keep daydreaming about scenarios where his other boyfriends find out.

The music is loud. The music is loud. The music is loud and it only makes his thoughts race and mind work faster, steadily bringing him to the breaking point.

The music is loud as he presses firmly down and steadily, slowly moves the blade across his wrist for the first time.

He watches in dissatisfaction as the cut doesn’t instantly bleed and only sits there mockingly without a trace of blood.

The music gets louder as his anxiety increases, his anger only fueling as he watches the cut.

Finally. Finally. Finally, a thin line of blood appears, bubbling up from the slit on Minho’s wrist that has him giggling uncontrollably.

The music is loud as his face sets into a giddy scowl and he continues to leave cuts going down his wrist.

He frowns, pressing harder with each go as some of the cuts turn out sloppy, uneven, not perfect. 

The music is blaring in his heart, utterly deafening and now, not just consuming his entire entity, but also his entire world. His entire universe falling victim to the wretched sound.

As the blood drips down, Minho can feel the slight ache satisfying in his chest. 

It’s glorious. It’s beautiful. 

It’s magnificent.

He watches in awe as the ruby-red blood from each cut mixes, filling in the minuscule wrinkles of his skin like intricate line work.

The music is loud as Minho slots the blade back over some of the carvings of his skin, extending the lines until they are all even.

It’s painful. It’s beauty.

The blood drips down into the sink slowly as Minho watches, mesmerized by its graceful movements. 

The music is no longer loud.

Minho feels the numbness overtake his body like a cold breeze of relief.

It’s quiet now. It’s almost too quiet but Minho can’t bring himself to care about that right now.

He feels like he’s floating on air. 

The music is no longer this all-controlling sickening beat.

Minho takes in a breath of stale air. It’s the most relieving sensation he has ever experienced.

He doesn’t feel the pain of the cuts anymore. The overwhelming feelings aren’t holding him hostage in their mitts.

He feels nothing. It’s incredible. 

Minho feels invincible as he patches up his arm with the forgotten first aid kid from under the sink. 

He runs his hand under the cold water, the shock of the freezing temperature not affecting him in the slightest as he continues to rinse the new cuts.

Today was bad but everything’s okay now. Everything’s okay again. He’s okay.

Minho knows the cuts will ache in the morning and feel incredibly uncomfortable and itchy all day, but the music stopped so that’s good.

Minho knows the shame will set in as soon as he wakes up, this torturous feeling of guilt making him sick to his stomach, but for now, the music has stopped so everything is okay.

Minho knows the music isn’t gone forever and that he’s going to feel these emotions of loneliness and helplessness and depression and darkness again tomorrow as he has every day for the past year, but the music has stopped now, so he’s okay.

He’s okay. Minho’s okay.

He’s okay because the music has stopped so everything is fine now.

Everything is good now.

When Minho finishes up, he lightly tugs the hoodie back down and takes a look in the mirror once more.

Minho lets out a terrified gasp as he takes in the ghastly sight before him. He feels a chill run down his spine and the accompanying thought with it has his blood running cold.

His body is rigid as he stares back at the person in the mirror.

His body is petrified as he stares back at the thing in the mirror.

His body is frozen as he stares back at the monster in the mirror.

A shattering scream splits open the night air, crumbling the peaceful atmosphere of warmth and drowsiness inside the other rooms.

Minho covers his ears and screams even louder, his mouth not able to control the ear-piercing screams he is letting out.

His screams only seem to increase the more he stares into the mirror. The more his racing heart speeds up. The more his breaths quicken. The more the tears build up in his eyes, frozen in their positions. The more the face in the mirror taunts him back as he stares. The more the blind and utterly-terrifying panic fills his chest.

The more the terror increases, the louder Minho screams, seemingly unaware of the sounds of feet rushing over to the bathroom, sounds of pounding on the door, and sounds of worried shouts from the world outside. 

Minho’s eyes are open wide and his mouth is slack open as he lets out these sickening screams. One after another after another after another after another they spill out of his mouth like the water droplets now falling from his eyes. Like the cold water that had dropped down onto his skin. Like the shiny blood that had slipped down from his wrist into the sink.

His mind races as he can’t keep himself from falling victim to his revelation.

Minho is the music.

The music isn’t all around him but in him. It is inside.

Minho is the music. His thoughts are the jumbled melody of notes and rhythms. The tempo of the music is only the same pounding and beating of his very own heart. The all-consuming, all-controlling, wretched melody is his own.

He is the music. He has been reincarnated as this sickly melody. As this torturous tune. This monstrous song.

He is no longer in control of himself. There is no longer an ounce of himself left in that garbled, distorted image he sees when he looks into the mirror.

Minho crumbles to the ground as sobs soundlessly wrack his body.

Minho curls in on himself as his hands press even harder against his ears as they continue to ring in his head.

Minho can feel the cold bathroom tile beneath him as he sinks to the ground, his mouth hanging open but unsure if he is still letting out those gut-wrenching screams.

It is then that the door opens.

It is then when the voices infiltrate the world surrounding Minho, engulfing him, swallowing him up.

It is then when his sobbing turns into pure hysteria as he squints at seven other blurry figures all crowding into the room.

It is then when he feels the light pressure of a singular finger pad on his knee which soon increases to two to three to four to five to six to seven.

It is then when Minho’s mind slightly clears and he blinks his eyes, straining to see who sits in front of him.

Minho focuses on the light touches on his knees, pulling him back into reality. Pulling him back into the warm presence of his seven boyfriends. Pulling him away from his thoughts. Away from the music. Away from himself.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice completely wretched from the screaming and crying.

The others instantly understand what Minho wants, Chan pulling him into his lap while the other crowd around to entirely embrace him from all sides.

It is a bit later when Minho confesses everything. He talks about the cutting. He talks about the thoughts. He talks about the music.

Minho doesn’t instantly feel better. 

He still feels the darkness curling inside him, the music wrapping itself around and fully consuming his body. 

He still feels the weight on his shoulders and talking through everything, hasn’t made him feel better. 

Minho still feels empty and his heart is cold and dark, his chest only filled by the all-consuming thoughts and feeling of helplessness.

But the members being there is enough. 

He may still be broken and having his boyfriends there is not going to solve everything and he knows that. 

He knows that he will still feel the same shame and guilt as he always does the next morning.

He knows the feelings of depression and desperation to make it all go away will not leave him overnight.

He knows the music won’t just go.

But now he can recognize that there is space inside of him for the light. And there is this vague honey-sweet, warm feeling somewhere inside of him. This place that hasn’t been touched by his self-destructive thoughts. A place that hasn’t fallen victim to the music that flows within him.

Maybe it’s always been there. 

Maybe it has been hiding from him. 

But he can feel it there.

Minho vaguely recognizes it as happiness. Now maybe not the happiness you think of when you think of that word. But at least, a potential. A potential for there to be happiness someday. For there to be light. A promise that he can one day make peace with the music in his head. In his heart. A hope that the music doesn’t always have to be some wicked, wretched, hideous thing. A potential for the future.

And that’s enough. That’s enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for this!!! :(( also pls do keep in mind that i purposely wrote it like this. all the repeating words and the way i structured sentences (even though not grammatically correct) was on purpose. i really tried to convey his thoughts and all the words that don’t fit or any messes of text are done on purpose. (it is really badly done though, so i apologize for that. i wrote this at like 2 am so i honestly did not expect it to be any good lolol! also let me know if i am forgetting anything for the trigger/content warning!!) thanks to anybody who reads <3 and pls take care


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